


Operation Spring

by interpret_who (Blizdal)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blizdal/pseuds/interpret_who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Winter Soldier leaves the Smithsonian he feels a bit…upset. Okay, he is furious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Операция Весна](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311429) by [BlueSunrise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSunrise/pseuds/BlueSunrise)



“Operation Spring is a go. Hail Hydra.”

 “Hail Hydra.”

***

When the Asset leaves the Smithsonian a woman passes by him, and with a whispered word his mind goes blank (his body leaves without him).

***

The Asset blinks, the fog in his mind clears and the woman smiles.

“There you are.”

He thinks her teeth are very white.

He will rip them out.

“The doctors will be here soon.” She says and it fills him with terror but there is also rage in him now, all encompassing, terrible rage, because he has seen his face, on a panel in an exhibit, and it had a name.

His fury must be physical because she stumbles away from him, her eyes impossibly wide. He hears the guards around him raise their weapons and sees the beginning of a word-

_a magical word_

\- on her mouth, and knows, viscerally, that he can’t let her talk. He can’t ever let her talk.

He explodes from the chair and hits her in the throat with his right hand. Her body is already half way to the floor when the first bullets ping, deflected with his left arm. 

One of the men is already dead by then and one of his guns is in the Asset’s hand and he

_fires_

_fires_

 fires.

***

Steve sits in a chair next to her bed and takes her hand.

“Have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier?”

She freezes and feels a chill run down her spine.

“You have.” He notes. “I was told that not many believe that he exists.”

“He is a bogeyman. There could be many operatives behind one name.”

“You think he is real.”

She remembers Howard’s mangled body squeezed between the car parts and a glint of metal in the distance. Some of the fear must show on her face because Steve immediately changes the subject.

“Bucky is alive.”

She sighs. She knows where this is going. She remembers the first time Barnes was alive when everyone wrote him off as dead. Steve became a hero then and she wonders, fleetingly, what he will become now. She has faith.

“I will find him.” He says and she nods, not doubting him. It is only then that she realizes that something is wrong. She must be dreaming. She loses and gains years in a matter of moments, but some things are impossible no matter what year it is. Barnes is dead, not captured or lost.

“Steve.” She says, gently, because she can’t stand to see him hurt, dream or not.

“Zola did something to him. He survived the fall.” He interrupts her and he sounds grateful, for just a moment, before his face crumbles and he hides it, laying his forehead on the back of her hand.

Barnes was in enemy territory when he fell. He was a soldier and he was injured. That can’t have ended well for him. But if he is alive it means he survived and learned to cope.

“They brainwashed him and made him forget who he was.” Steve says later and she pretends not to notice the way his voice wobbles or the way he obviously avoids even mentioning that that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She doesn’t say that she isn’t surprised, just squeezes his hand.

“They put him on ice when they didn’t need him.” His words start calm but he ends them with a snarl.

He didn’t change the subject at all, she realizes, and it shakes her to the marrow of her weak, age-old bones. “Cryostasis.” She whispers. It was one of the theories about the Winter Soldier. One no one took seriously. Cryostasis technology doesn’t work yet.

Except that it obviously does.

“Oh, Steve.”

He looks at her and his eyes are filled with hate. “They are going to pay.”

“They should. I’m sorry I can’t get you a plane this time.” She says apologetically and he smiles, weakly, through all that hate, and kisses her hand.

“I saw the news reports. That was him you fought against, wasn’t it?”

“I could have killed him.” He says and he must have imagined having done it because he looks horrified.

“ _He_ could have killed _you_.” She says. She knows which option of the two she prefers.

He looks away and it leaves her gutted because-

“Steve.” She says aghast. “Steve.”

She shakes his arm when he refuses to meet her eyes, and wishes he didn’t when he finally does.

“I let go of my shield in the middle of the fight.” He says, without regret, almost proud, and she wants to hit him hard.

She takes a deep breath instead. “Well, you’re still alive.”

Steve beams and she thinks he is a fool. He always is when it comes to Barnes.

When he leaves, she stares at the door until she forgets that he is alive.

Later-

_Hours, days, weeks?_

-she wakes up and sees a glint of metal in the dark. Her heart beats wildly and her hand reaches for a weapon she no longer keeps close. She remembers Howard, broken and dead and-

“You are Agent Carter.” Winter Soldier says and the title confuses her. Throws her back in time and makes her think she is young before the tremor in her hand catches her up and

-she remembers Steve’s hate filled eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes.” She greets, hoarsely. He doesn’t react.

Minutes pass. She waits for the guards to barge into her room but they do not show up. Barnes is leaning against the wall, his cap in his right hand, his left by his side, causal, ready. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her. They are blue and pretty and cold. No bullet deadens Barnes’s eyes. No sniper saves her.

She prays for it and prays that Steve never finds out. 

She wonders if the agents watching her are dead. She sees no blood on his clothes but she knows better than to think that means anything. She knows the Winter Soldier’s file inside and out. It’s a list of names of maybe-victims, details of his maybe-crimes and few grainy pictures of a man, maybe-him. She remembers sending agents after this man and remembers none of them coming back.

She stares at his metal hand. The rest of his arm is covered by the jacket and she is at the same time grateful and disappointed.

She sees no obvious weapons on him but it’s not like he needs them. He _is_ a weapon. The thought makes the fear in her rise, but it’s the sudden onslaught of pity that makes her breath hitch, because he used to be a _man_.

He reacts to the sound by tilting his head, like a dog-

-like a _hound_ , she corrects herself immediately as she tries to breathe more evenly.   

She wants to speak but has no idea what to say. She never knew him well. She remembers him more as a shadow next to Steve but his stillness strikes her as familiar and his eyes are still loud. She averts her own.

Barnes leaves, after awhile, without another word said between them. She relaxes when he’s gone and her entire body hurts from holding still for so long.

She dreams that night.

_She goes to the Stork and turns heads._

_She waits for her dance, but Steve is dead dead dead._

_Then the world before her eyes goes white and black and all the other people in the club fall de-_

_Steve is sitting at the table, in shades of grey. There is blood on his shield, dripping red. He is wiping it off and although the shield gets cleaner, the star stays red. It looks wrong but Peggy can’t remember why._

_“I hope you catch him.” She tells him, honestly, because while that blade is made of flesh and blood (and metal) it is still a blade but it is also the sound of a train that makes Steve flinch and-_

_his small bones rattle_

_-he looks smaller than a moment ago._

***

The Asset leaves the room and the old woman and puts his cap back on his head. He swallows, trying to chase away the bitter tang of disappointment. He doesn’t remember her.

He had hoped that seeing someone he knew before he became the Asset might knock something loose in his head, fill the holes in his memory. He was able to surmise from the exhibit that they were merely acquaintances and that she was probably not the best choice for this. But there is only one other person from his past that is still alive and he is not ready to see Steve yet.

His mobile pings and he takes it out. Steven Rogers is sending a message to Sam Wilson. He reads it and deletes it afterwards. They’ve found the bodies. He had though they would find them sooner. He didn’t exactly hide them.

He thinks about staying and letting himself be captured but he discards the thought quickly.

He has to move.

His mobile pings again.

_You were unauthorized to read that message._

He blinks, his fingers hovering above the keyboard. He doesn’t recognize the number of the sender. His former handlers had not warned him that something like this can happen when he clones a mobile number.

Another ping. _You will not read another._

He crushes the phone with his metal hand and drops it in the hallway. He has to hurry.

***

Half a town away, JARVIS makes a note of another attack on Captain Rogers’s phone. Considering the fact that this one was in part successful, he notifies his Creator.


	2. Chapter 2

“She’s missing teeth,” Sam notices, crouched over the woman’s body.

“Here they are,” Steve says, a few feet away and Sam looks at him, slowly, as if afraid what he’ll find.

Steve sounds indifferent.

“He must have been very angry,” Steve says, calmly, as if there aren’t teeth next to his booth instead of in someone’s jaw.

Sam rises and goes to him. “Steve.”

“Do you see that chair?”

Sam does. It is mangled in places but it still looks like the most ominous chair he had ever seen.

“That is where they killed him, over and over again.” One of the arm restraints is on the floor, obviously ripped off and Steve kicks it with all his might.

It ends up embedded in the wall.

Sam stares at it, “That was quite a kick.”

“Thank you. I imagined it was Zola’s head.”  

Sam knows when to back off. “Can we leave now?”

“Yes,” Steve says and they do.

They exit that room, and the next one, and the hallway and Sam resolutely doesn’t count the dead.

Steve steps over them as if they were logs.

***

There are no surveillance cameras in the inside of the house, or in front of it but there is a car in the garage and it was caught on camera in a nearby street. They manage to trace its path backwards and it leads to the Smithsonian.

They watch as the woman exits the car and goes to the entrance. On the stairs she passes a man and Steve wouldn’t think anything of it except that he stops and doesn’t move. His face is hidden by the cap he is wearing and his hands are in his pockets. He looks eerie, standing so still in a crowd of moving people. He only starts walking again when another man comes to him and supposedly greats him.

The two men go to the car, enter it and drive off.

“That was Bucky,” Steve says, full of conviction.

“We can’t see his face,” Sam hates playing the devil’s advocate, “and it’s not like we can follow that car all the way to the house. There are minutes we don’t have on camera. Maybe it’s not him.”

“Who else could it be? He went to see the exhibit and they caught him.”

“He didn’t seem _caught_ to me. He went on his own.”

“Maybe they threatened him.”

“With what? He could have easily escaped. I’ve seen that man fight, Steve. There is no way that guy could have restrained him. If he left, it was on his own volition.”

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t believe that.”

“He is Hydra. Brainwashed or not, he is Hydra.”

“He dragged me out of the river.”

“And left. He has been working for them for a very long time. Saving you doesn’t mean he is not working for them anymore.”

“He killed a bunch of Hydra agents and destroyed the chair they used to control him.”

Sam can’t deny that. “You read the file Natasha gave you. It has happened before. They always get him back.”

“We just have to get to him before they do.”

“Fine. Let’s say he is not on their side anymore. What then? He has his own side? That does not tell us much. You could still be on opposite sides. His side is not necessarily yours.”

“It is.”

Sam feels chills at the simple truth he hears in those two words.

Steve looks at him, resolutely, “I know him.”

“You _knew_ him.”

“Some things never change. Don’t worry, Sam.” he hesitates a little before making the reference, “I’m not suddenly going to go to the Dark side. I just have to help him.” He turns to the recording and lets it play again. “I want to show you something.” He stops the recording when the unknown man and Bucky start walking towards the car. He turns to Sam, “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“The way he walks. It is different before and after he stops.”

“So?”

“I’m no sure yet. It means something.”

“It is just a walk.”

“No. There’s something there. He wouldn’t have gone quietly. I know it. _That woman did something to him_.”

Sam remembers the corpse with the gaping mouth and thinks that she is lucky that she is already dead. The expression on Steve’s face is ugly, twisted and black. He didn’t know that Steve could hate so much, but that is only to be expected. Sam didn’t know Steve when he was little, frail and running mostly on anger, both righteous and not. Back then, Steve hated more openly.

Not all the girls that avoided him then did so because he was small and sickly. Some saw the bruises on his knuckles and the shade of hate on his face.

Some just saw that he was quick to anger and quick to throw a punch.

***

He is dancing with a pretty girl and when he smiles at her she blushes. After the next spin he pulls her just a bit closer and she looks at him underneath her lashes. One corner of her mouth turns up, in a half smile, and anticipation settles low in his gut. The beat speeds up and-

_Knock knock_

-he opens his eyes to find himself in his hotel room with the television on, playing oldies goldies, the familiar beat thrumming in his veins.

_Knock knock knock knock knock_

He grabs a gun and rises from the bed. He opens the door a bit and stares silently at the dodgy looking guy on the other side.

“Rent,” the guy says and waits. His eyes dart to the side, trying to see inside the room and Bucky moves slightly to block the view completely. The guy notices and gives him the stink eye. His eyes soften when Bucky pulls out the money.

The guy counts it twice and leaves, but not without throwing another quick glance at what little he can see of the room.

Bucky closes the door and leaves the gun on the nightstand. He falls on the bed, face first. The television is still on, a different song playing, and he grabs blindly for the remote and switches it off. He hates that song.

His arm whirs louder than it should and he forces himself to get up. It is obviously not going to fix itself. He shakes it and something inside it jingles. He sighs. He really needs to take care of that.

He pries a plate open and looks inside but it looks different than he remembers. He is not surprised. The outer shell of his arm may not have changed much since they put it on him but the inside of it has been upgraded several times, and he was rarely asked for input or instructed in how to do maintenance. Even if he had been instructed, the wipes took the knowledge away. He hopes that one day he will remember something about it. He hates not being able to fix it himself.

 He leans down to take a closer look and his hair falls in his face. He tugs at it, annoyed. It really needs to go.

After a lengthy inspection, he puts the plate back in its place. He thinks he knows what the problem is, but he is not absolutely certain and he doesn’t have the proper tools to work with. His metal arm is connected to his spine. He is not willing to rummage around in it and risk doing serious damage to himself.  

***

“Are you going to eat that cake or should I eat it for you?”

“Your blood sugar-“

“Is fine.”

“You dirty old liar, I’ve seen your test results.”

“Who are you calling old?!”

“You are eighty years old!”

“I am in my prime.” 

Bucky glances at the table where a group of old ladies is sitting. Two of them are arguing loudly while the other two are eating their cakes peacefully, obviously accustomed to their friends arguing. The fifth one keeps looking in his direction. She doesn’t look away when he catches her, just winks saucily.  

He winks back.

***

“No, no, the asset…“

He lifts his head as if called, only to see two accountants in a heated discussion. His fingers tighten on the coffee cup. _James Barnes, not the Asset_ , he chants inside his own mind. _James Barnes_.  He takes an angry sip and the coffee scalds his tongue. He mutters profanities under his breath. The old ladies gasp as one and stare at him disapprovingly.

His look turns sheepish and he smiles at them disarmingly which makes all but one of them soften. The last one rises her nose up in the air indignantly, “I never-“ 

“Let it go, Martha. You say a lot worse when you get going.”

“Not in public!”

“Like hell you don’t! Just yesterday you told Cynthia she was a-“

“Cynthia does not count!”

“Of course she does!”

With their attention diverted away from him, he looks out on the street. He listens with half an ear to them squabbling.

_“Stop trying to change the subject! And don’t think I haven’t seen you winking at him. You are weak on pretty boys. Admit it.”_

_She shrugs, “There are worse things to be weak on.”_

_“You_ slut _.”_

The doors of the coffee shop open, the bell connected to them jingles and another old woman comes in. The others wave her over and she starts slowly towards them, her walking stick making _thump thump_ sound on the floor as she goes. The smile on her face is wide and when she glances to the side and spots him it freezes on her face.

He grins, just to see her blanch.

She is older than the last time he has seen her but he remembers the green of her eyes and those long fingers digging inside his metal arm. She used to laugh when he cried.

He has questions and a malfunctioning arm. He hopes her hands don’t shake.

***

They don’t.

He admires it and hates that he does. It claws viciously at his insides making him want to strap her down and play around in hers until she is a sobbing mess, but he knows she would not cry.

He thinks she would have smiled.

She finishes working on his arm, puts the tools away and looks at him scornfully.

He leans towards her and she quickly leans away from him, knocking down her cane in the process. It clatters loudly.

“They will catch you,” she spits venomously. “They will wipe you and put you back on ice.”

“No. They will not.”

“You said the same thing the last time.”

He goes still and she laughs mockingly. “They always get you back in the end. Of course, they might just put you down this time. That wasn’t an option before, but things have changed.”

He stands up and takes out his gun.

“It will be a pity,” she continues, “so much effort and money had gone into maintaining you, but everything has its expiry date.”

He aims, “Yes, it does.”

“My grandson-“

“I won’t touch him if he stays out of my way,” he confirms, reluctantly. Her grandson is Hydra but so low on the ladder as to be almost insignificant. Not worth his time.

He can’t kill them all, after all.

 _I can_ , the thought comes unbidden but frank, and his arm recalibrates and whirs. It sounds like it’s hissing _yes_.

He studies her expression. He can tell that she believes him; the relief is clear on her face and he wishes to go back on his word and hunt him down just because he can.

He won’t.

Her eyes are hateful when they meet his own and blank when the bullet goes between them.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a mention of suicide and implied torture, otherwise it's just the usual canon-typical violence.
> 
> I haven't watched the last few episodes of season 1 of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, let alone the season 2, and I haven't even started watching Agent Carter yet so if I am Jossed on certain things then I'm Jossed.

 He answers his phone with a clipped: “Rogers.”

“Having trouble finding the answer button, gramps? It took you so long to answer I almost gave up.”

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

“What do you want?”

“Why so grumpy, Cap? Did I interrupt your evening nap? Or-”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Still haven’t caught up with your war buddy?”

“…What do you want?”

“Wow, I can feel your hostility all the way here.”

“Stark!”

“Fine… _spoilsport_. JARVIS caught someone spying on you. They cloned your phone.”

“What?”

“They cloned your phone. That’s when they-“

“I know what it means. I thought you said that no one can do that to the Stark phones,” the barb hit home, Steve thinks gleefully as he enjoys the silence on the other end.

Tony clears his throat, “Hydra has good tech,” he admits grudgingly.

“Hydra?”

“I suggest you ask Margaret for details. JARVIS traced the signal back to her house.”

He forgets sometimes that Tony has known her since he was a child. “Why would Hydra be at Peggy’s house?”

“Why wouldn’t Hydra be at Carter’s house? She is one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. She has guards for a reason.”

“Is she- “

“She’s fine. She’s not hurt. When I talked to her she didn’t even know that there was anything wrong. She was surprised to hear that her guards were knocked out. You know what her memory is like. We’ll just have to ask her again later.”

“Why would they leave her alive? Why not kill the guards? Hydra is not known for their mercy.”

“A phone was found crushed in front of her room,” Tony says, like it answers all his questions. 

It doesn’t. “Crushed?”

“With a metal hand, perhaps? I’m just guessing, of course, but I am very good at guessing. Don’t you have a buddy with a metal arm? I think I remember you having a buddy with a metal arm.”

“Tony.”

“You definitely have a buddy with a metal arm. I would like to take a look at that metal arm.”

Steve hangs up.

“What happened?” Sam asks.

The phone rings and Tony’s name flashes on the screen. Steve doesn’t pick up.

“We need to go see Peggy. Bucky was there. He must have found out about her from the exhibit.”

“He didn’t hurt her?”

Steve glares.

“It is a valid question,” Sam says, unrepentant.

Steve folds in on himself, defeated, “Yeah, it is,” he admits, reluctantly.

***

“Barnes was here,” Peggy tells him when Sam leaves the room. “I didn’t want to tell Howard when he called.”

Steve doesn’t correct her but she catches the look on his face, “I remember it was Anthony, now,” she says ruefully.

“What happened?”

“I woke up and he was here.”

“Did he hurt you?” Steve asks and the words sound fragile, like they barely survived being uttered.

“No.”

Steve slumps down as all the tension leaves his body. “What did he want?”

She thinks back to the way Barnes watched her, “To remember.”

She shakes her head when Steve looks at her hopefully. His eyes dim. “It is not surprising. We didn’t know each other well,” she reminds him gently.

He sighs, disappointed.

“He looked well,” she says “healthy,” and more hesitantly, “he didn’t look all that different than I remember him.”

Steve looks at her questioningly.

“You are used to him treating you like a friend.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He and I were never friends.”

“But-“

“We were courteous to each other.”

“He was a good man.” Steve says, defensively.

“He was,” she agrees, “and perhaps given more time we would have become friends. The point is, people don’t treat everyone the same. You are not used to him treating you as anything other than a friend. You haven’t seen that side of him. I have. And he may be a bit colder now, a bit more distant, and the arm may be a bit jarring but I still recognize him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Not all is lost, but he _was_ brainwashed and mindwiped. It is not going to be easy and you need to be careful.”

“I know.”

“Look at it from the bright side, Steve. He didn’t kill me or any of my guards.”

Steve’s laughter is a bit hysterical, “I’m supposed to be happy that he didn’t kill a bunch of people? It is supposed to be normal not to go around killing people.”

“Not for assassins it’s not.”

***

There are two Hydra agents in the room next to Bucky’s, three on the street and six in the building across from the hotel. They think he doesn’t know that they are there.

They don’t see him stroke the handle of his knife (they can’t feel the swallowed bile as it burns his throat). 

They plan to attack him soon and the horrible truth is that he is going to kill them all.

He’s not sorry.

He’s not sorry.

The blood gets between the plates of his arm and he hates cleaning it. That’s all.

He’s not sorry.

_He’s not._

***

He is systematic and fast, and before they even realize what is going on, it is over.

_They should have sent a sniper_ , he thinks as he rummages through their things. He finds drugs, the ones that actually work on him and knows why there was no sniper. They are still trying to bring him in alive.

He wonders how many more he needs to murder before they go in for the kill.

He is disposing of the bodies when he notices that one of them has a mustache and it reminds him of Dernier and-

_Steve looks at him and there is guilt in his eyes and an apology. No regret._

_There is blood caked under Bucky’s fingernails and he thinks he can hear his knife croon a lament but it is only Dernier, singing softly in French._

_“It’s about scantily clad women,” Jones responds when asked but everyone knows it isn’t true. Those songs never sound that sad._

***

He hasn’t been wiped since the day the helicarriers fell. He knows, somehow, that this is the longest he’s ever been awake and without regular wipes. His handlers always avoided this. It never takes him long to start remembering, to start to want and think and question, to realize he is _not quite right_.   

brokenmendedwrong

The serum in his blood always tries to heal the damage they make, but it can only do so much. It can’t help him deal with what he remembers.

Sometimes his head hurts, like someone has taken a hammer to it, and the memory blooms and he sees it as if it were happening right now. Sometimes it is gentle, like when he orders a coffee and knows he wants it black. There is no pain, just certainty, like it was something he has always known. Only, he remembers he didn’t. Just two days ago he passed a coffee shop and the smell made him curious. He remembers not knowing what it was. 

***

He sees a billboard advertising a travel agency, all blue oceans and green palm leaves and remembers sand burning his feet and the metal of his arm heating up. He remembers standing in the water, letting the waves wash off the blood, the red getting lost in all that blue. 

His handler had approached him cautiously, his weapon drawn and his arm shaking slightly. He had waited for the Soldier to turn to him. Bucky remembers being grateful.

He remembers Anton fondly.

He thinks it as Антон, he realizes suddenly, realizes that he has been thinking in Russian for awhile now. His thoughts switch from English to Russian, and sometimes they are a mix of both. Sometimes he swears in German and it bothers him that he cannot remember where he learned it, whether it was while he was strapped to a table in Austria or in Berlin, decades later, for a mission.

Maybe it was when Steve closed the door behind him and the bound German soldier spat in his face. He sang his secrets in the end, through tears, snot and blood.

He relives that day in his dreams. It always starts with him already in the room; Hans’s scared eyes following his every move. Before, German language has always sounded harsh to Barnes-

_James Buchanan, Sergeant, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8_

-but Hans makes it sound soft. Near the end he pleads in whispers, gently, with his eyes closed.

When Bucky is done, he exits the room and finds Steve waiting, expectant. Once he reports, Steve leaves, hurriedly, without a backward glance. The information is time sensitive. Bucky understands. He really does.

(Steve never once looks inside the room.)

Bucky slides down to the floor. Indefinite amount of time later Morita drags him away. And the world around Bucky may be tilting but Morita’s hold on his upper arm is firm and his voice is steady when he says “Let’s go, Sarge.”

Behind the wall, Hans’s body cools.

Later, just in time for dinner, Falsworth and Dum Dum return shivering and dirty, with shovels in their hands and Bucky freezes for a second and then his brain restarts and thinks _Hans_ , and he runs, runs, runs, away from sight and falls to his knees and pukes his guts out. He hears footsteps behind him but by the time he turns around there is no one there. But-

_there is roaring in his ears, like lions woken up, angry_

-he recognizes the footprints in the snow and something horrible rises in his chest. It’s heavy and it burns and he doesn’t think it is hate.

(He thinks it is hate.)

Steve comes to him later, long after Dernier has stopped singing and everyone is asleep. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out like it means a thing (anything).

_You asked me to cross a line, Steve, and I did,_ he wants to say, _I wish you had asked somebody else,_ but he knows Steve couldn’t have asked anyone else. You could have done it yourself,he thinks.

“ _You’re_ the one who wanted to go to war,” he accuses instead and there is frost in his voice, winter creeping, and Steve looks at him with big eyes, lost and young. “On _your_ terms,” Bucky scrubs a hand over his face, trying to chase away the viciousness he knows is there, “but there are no terms here,” he says, sadly.

“I know.” _I know that now_

Steve sounds despondent, but it doesn’t take him long to strengthen his shoulders and for the glint in his eyes to become determined. Bucky wants to cry. 

He thinks, bleakly, the higher you fly, Steve, the further I have to fall.

He doesn’t say anything because he knows that he is sometimes too harsh on Steve. He chose to follow him, after all, wherever he led. It is not Steve’s fault that the path they walk is not clean.

It is not Steve’s fault that they will all be filthy in the end.

The next time he fires his rifle, the shot echoes inside his chest, following the beat of his heart, spreading the cold inside of him. _Once you get frozen inside you can never get warm again_ , his mother told him when he had asked her why his uncle jumped into the river and didn’t swim.

He fires again and remembers his uncle’s smiling eyes the day before he let the water swallow him whole.

He falls, days later.

*

They drag him through the snow; his stump leaves a bloody trail no one will follow.

***

He wakes up with a whimper, always-

_always_

-smelling winter.

*

(it smells clean)

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some torture in this chapter. Most of it is implied, but some of it isn’t.

Two members of Hydra walk into a bar. One of them orders water. “Hail Hydra,” he whispers into his glass. The other one resists the urge to facepalm and orders beer instead.

“We still haven’t heard anything from the teams we sent after the Asset,” the one with the water reports.

The other man grimaces.

“I think it is safe to assume that they are dead.”

His superior glares daggers at him but still fails to say anything.

“We lost some of our best agents. We can’t exactly afford to lose many more. Are we going to implement phase two of the Operation?”

“I’m not giving the kill order,” he says finally, “He’s too valuable.”

“But-“

“Capture and wipe. It’s time to put Winter back to sleep. Unless he goes on the offensive or makes contact with Captain America, phase two is not an option.”

***

When Steve goes to speak with Tony, Pepper warns him, with an apologetic smile, “He and Bruce are doing Science.” Steve can hear the capital S. Dread fills him and he thinks about leaving, but decides to risk it in the end.

JARVIS opens the door of the lab for him and he enters cautiously. He doesn’t want to get blown up again. He knew he should have brought his shield. Damn Sam for making him leave it.

_“You don’t need to carry it with you all the time, Steve. It is not healthy. And you are scaring people. Remember that old man who thought aliens were attacking again when he saw you with the shield? He almost had a heart attack.”_

It sounded sensible at the time.

(Sam just wants to play with his shield again. Steve _knows_.)

Bruce is typing on the computer and Tony is bent over a mess of wires and metal.

“Bruce,” Tony says without looking away from his project.

“No,” Bruce answers, equally engrossed in his own project.

“Bruce.”

“No.”

“Bruuuuuce.”

“No. It’s a terrible idea.”

“It is a wonderful idea. “

“No.”

Tony looks at Bruce, “Please?”

“Stop giving me the puppy dog eyes, Tony.”

“You’re not even looking, how do you-“

“I am awesome.” Bruce says dryly, still looking at the screen, his fingers typing furiously on the keyboard.

“Fine. I’ll just ask Harley instead.”

“Harley is thirteen.”

“So?”

“Am I interrupting?” Steve interrupts, and Tony spins around at the sound of his voice.

“Capsicle!” he says with a grin and rubs his hands together in glee. His elbow knocks something down, the mess of metal and wires clicks ominously on the table behind him, and Bruce’s eyes go green.

_Damn it, Sam._

***

A little while letter, after they have transferred to the other lab, Bruce has left to find a change of clothes and Dummy has finished putting out the fire, they sit on the chairs and Tony turns to him expectantly, “What brings you here?”

“I have a few questions.”

“About Barnes.”

“Yes. Peggy confirmed it was him.”

“He destroyed the phone. I don’t know where he is.”

“But he must have had it for a while. Can you tell where he was?”

Tony contemplates him for a few seconds. “JARVIS,” he says finally, not taking his eyes off Steve.

“The file has been transferred to the Captain’s phone.” The AI responds.

“Thank you,” Steve says, both to Tony and to JARVIS.

“You’re welcome, Captain,” JARVIS responds and Tony just waves him off.

Steve gets up and turns to leave, uncomfortable in the sudden silence that follows. He and Tony get along until they don’t. Steve prefers to leave before the _don’t_ happens.

“JARVIS, music,” he hears before the door closes behind him.

***

Sam and Steve retrace Bucky’s steps but they don’t find anything of importance. He doesn’t return to any of the places he went to before, and no one remembers him. One camera caught him, but the picture is blurry and no other camera catches him so they can’t see what he was doing at the locations he was at. Some seem obvious, like the address of the coffee shop, but the others are a complete mystery.  

“Well, he seems to like Indian food,” Steve says, while staring at the restaurant’s logo just barely visible on the photograph.

“We are not staking out all the Indian restaurants in the city.”

“I’m not suggesting we do,” Steve responds, sounding tired and defeated.

Sam doesn’t like the sound of Steve’s voice, but he has been expecting this to happen sooner or later. The initial high of the chase had to wear off.

They need a distraction.

They need someone in trouble. Steve can’t see someone in trouble and not help. He would get his righteous face on, his back straight, his hair shining yellow in the sun and his shield glinting heroically.

Sam knows that shields can’t glint heroically, but _that_ shield can. _It can_.

It always reminds him of the comic books and he can’t help but snicker covertly every time it happens. The _first_ time it happened, Steve caught him and Sam really can’t bear having to endure Captain America’s disappointed look again. Howling Commandoes were his favorite heroes, okay?

(Sam is still a little boy at heart.)

Steve doesn’t know it, but Sam took that shield and struck a heroic pose in front of the glass, trying to see his reflection, when he was waiting for Steve to wake up in the hospital after the Winter Soldier did a number on him.

Hawkeye caught him doing it, but he just snorted and said, “Been there, done that.” He left shortly after, as soon as he heard that Steve’s prognosis was good.

Sam is just happy it wasn’t Natasha who caught him.

Hawkeye won’t tell.

*

Clint totally tells.

***

Sam’s plan works: they find trouble. Steve seems to have a gift for it.

They are both a bit bloody and banged up afterwards, but the figurative black cloud is no longer above Steve’s head.

Sam gingerly sits down in a chair and winces when he inevitably lands on a bruise. _Everything_ hurts _._

Steve smirks.

Damn, super soldier _,_ Sam thinks, glaring at the smug bastard. _His_ bruises have already healed.

Steve opens his mouth but whatever he was about to say is interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He looks at the caller id. “It’s Tony,” he says and puts the phone on speaker.

_“Are you two done saving kittens from trees?”_

“Why, do you have a kitten that needs saving?” Steve asks at the same time as Sam says,

“Those were not kittens. Kittens don’t have guns.”

“Why are you calling?” Steve asks. He knows from experience that it is best to cut Tony off before he really gets started.

_“JARVIS has something on Barnes. A hotel. He might still be there.”_

***

He’s not. But there is a broken window across the street and when they enter the building, and that particular room, it smells too clean.

There is no blood, no bullet holes, and no other sign of fighting.

There was a struggle here, Steve _knows_. He wonders who won. He can’t tell who won.

He can’t tell who won.

***

Steve gets too close, misses him by the minutes and it’s not that Bucky doesn’t want to be found, he just hates being hunted.

Back off, he thinks, back off.

But Steve doesn’t. He keeps hunting him and some vicious part of Bucky decides that he is not going to be found. He will disappear, out of _spite_.

That little bastard doesn’t get to turn him into prey.

(Steve gets to do much but he doesn’t get to do that)

***

Often, Bucky dreams of seeing Steve fall. Sometimes, he jumps after him, sometimes he does not.

***

Often, Steve dreams of seeing Bucky fall. Sometimes, he doesn’t jump after him, sometimes he does.

***

It’s been a few days since they found the hotel in which Bucky was staying. Steve had high hopes for this lead, but days have passed and-

“There’s no trace of him anywhere, Sam.”

“We will find something,” Sam consoles, but he sounds uncertain.

“They have him, they caught him,” Steve despairs, convinced and Sam grimaces.

“Have you considered the possibility that he simply doesn’t want to be found?”

Sam’s eyes are gentle even though his words cut. Steve feels both like falling and seeing Bucky fall at the same time. “I have,” he admits, “I don’t care much for it.”

Sam sighs.

“He’s remembering, I’m sure of it-“

“I know.”

Steve’s voice is bewildered when he asks “How?”

“Everyone else who went after him is dead.”

Steve smiles, happy, and Sam is not sure whether he is happy that someone finally agrees with him or that those who want to harm Barnes tend to end up dead. Sam is just grateful that he seems to be safe by association.

***

Months pass.

They don’t find Bucky.

Steve stabs a man, “I saw the footage from the bank, when he was wiped,” he whispers into his ear, like a secret, and twists the blade. This man was a member of STRIKE. The betrayal burns, he is so angry he can barely think straight. Their definition of what a team is obviously differs.

He misses his Howling Commandoes fiercely.

He pulls out the knife and blood gushes out. The man looks at him like he has never seen him before. Steve relishes in it, even though, deep inside-

_at the bottom; at the bottom of an ocean, where it’s so dark, some fishes are born blind_

-it hurts.

“Where is he?” Steve asks, again.

“We don’t have him,” the Hydra agent rasps out. Steve stares. The image before his eyes blurs. He can’t see the man anymore, just Hydra, faceless. He swore once, that he would destroy them all.

He leaves. He knows how a man looks when he is about to die, he doesn’t need to see it.

Sam is waiting for him outside. He focuses on Steve’s face, and resolutely avoids looking behind him and into the room. It reminds Steve of himself and of a room- 

_rooms_

- _he_ didn’t look inside of; it reminds him of Bucky, shivering in the snow and the scent of puke in the air.

Steve’s stomach doesn’t roll. He thinks that he should probably feel nausea.

“Hydra doesn’t have him,” he tells Sam, and that is when relief finally hits him. The pain follows at its heels, sharp and devastating.

_Sam was right, Bucky is hiding from him._

He closes the door and starts walking away.

Sam catches up to him. “Steve,” he says, “Steve.”

“I know.”

They enter the kitchen and Steve goes to grab a coffee cup but Sam stops him.

“That was torture.”

“I know,” Steve repeats and wonders whether he would have done something like this before Dr. Erskine and the serum, before good became great and bad became worse.   

Sam frowns, struggling with the words he wants to say.

Steve waits him out, patiently. He glances at the bullet holes in the wall, behind Sam’s head. There were only two Hydra agents in this safe house, and the first one died when they stormed it. Steve doubts that he would have had useful information. He breathes in and out, controlled, and resists the urge to rub at his skin. It feels raw.

“I think you should call Natasha,” Sam says and the words sound light. It’s not what he was about to say.

Steve is grateful. Steve is so, so grateful. “Natasha is out in the world, finding herself.”

“She’s bored as hell.”

Steve looks surprised by Sam’s knowledge.

“We may be exchanging text messages…and phone calls. She’s a friend. Sometimes I just need something to distract me from your gloominess.” 

Steve shoots him a displeased look, but doesn’t deny the part about gloominess, “I still don’t understand why you think I need to call Natasha,” he says, crossing his arms but then Sam glances down, noticing the change in posture and Steve deliberately uncrosses them.

Sam shrugs, playing at casualness, “She may have some insights. Besides, you can show her that video that’s been bothering you, the one taken in front of the Smithsonian.”

“You thought it was nothing.”

“But you think it’s something. It doesn’t hurt to get a second opinion.”

“It’s been months.”

“And yet, I’ve seen you watching it again a few days ago.”

“That video is creepy.”

It doesn’t really matter if Sam agrees. He just needs Natasha to come-

_Steve is spiraling down, down, down_

-so he can get some respite. Sam needs his beauty sleep. Not everyone can be a super soldier with lowered sleep requirements.

***

Steve makes the call.

_“I’ll be there in two days,”_ Natasha says cheerfully.

“Wait- How do you know where we are?”

She laughs and hangs up.

Steve looks at Sam accusingly and Sam raises his hands up, in surrender, “Don’t look at me, I didn’t tell her.”

***

Two days later, when Natasha sees the video, she blanches. Then she takes a deep, shuddering breath, and scrubs a hand over her face.

“What is it?” Steve asks, tense and too impatient to be nice about it.

She looks at him gravely, “He has an off switch.” There is something dead in her voice, dead and rotting and stinking up the place.

Everyone is still for a moment, and then Steve gets up and leaves the hotel room without a word.

“The name is pretty descriptive,” Sam remarks, when the sound of Steve’s footsteps dies down.

Natasha nods, not looking at him.

“How does it work?”

“It’s triggered by a word.”

“How do you know this?” He’s pretty sure he knows the answer already. When she meets his eyes, he almost regrets asking. She looks ill. There is pain in her eyes, old pain, and he can’t help but guess: “Do you have one as well?”

She looks away. “All those who knew my codes are dead,” she says, tiredly.

He doesn’t need to ask how they died.

***

Hours later, Steve comes back, composed but with a hard glint in his eyes. He sits in a chair across from Natasha. ”How many people do I need to find and where do I find their names?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha answers, “Not many. In my case, it was one technician, one doctor, and two more people.”

“That’s less than I expected,” Sam says.

“When many people know the codes, the operative becomes vulnerable. The possibility that someone would sell the codes to the highest bidder grows with the number of people who know them.”

“How do I learn who they are?”

“The woman in the video was one. Start there,” Natasha advises.

“She’s dead.”

“Then research her life. Find out who she worked with. Go through files.”

Steve grimaces.

“There is no easy way to do this,” Natasha says, not without sympathy.

Steve nods, determined, “I don’t care how difficult it is, or how long it is going to take. I’m going to find them. I may not be able to find Bucky, but I will find _them_. I will find every single one of them.”

Natasha studies him for a few moments. “Good,” she says, pleased, and then she grins, and it is too savage to be anything else but a show of teeth. 

Sam is not so sure anymore that calling her was a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harley, that is mentioned in this chapter, is the kid from Iron Man 3.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read somewhere that pre-serum Steve was colorblind. I do not know if this is canon or fanon but for the purpose of this fic pre-serum Steve was colorblind. I haven’t found any mention of the type of his color blindness but in this fic I’m going with monochromacy. Monochromats possess a complete inability to distinguish any colors and perceive only variations in brightness.

Steve is alone when he wakes up. The bed is too small and the room is too white; the walls, the door, his clothes, the light on the ceiling that doesn’t shine yellow. For a moment he thinks that he is colorblind again and frail, and his heart constricts in his chest, but a quick look at his hands shows that they are still big and strong and his next breath comes easily, without a wheeze.

Then he sees a mark on the inside of his elbow, almost completely faded. He would have missed it if he had his old eyes.

They took his blood.

***

The doors don’t have a handle, not on his side. Kicking them down doesn’t work, and running into walls doesn’t bring them down.

Hours later, he punches a wall, frustrated, and the skin on his knuckles splits open and his blood leaves a smear. Red, he thinks, looking at it, he could paint the walls.

They will cut him open anyway.

He chases the black thoughts away, and goes to sit on the bed. He lifts his feet up. The room is chilly and his feet are bare.

He doesn’t see a camera inside the room, but he knows there must be someone watching him. Someone will come to him, sooner or later.

He closes his eyes and prays that Sam is okay.

***

Sam is not okay. Sam is bleeding out on the floor of an empty Hydra base. He played possum when they dragged the unconscious Steve away. I let them, he thinks, and the thought is poison, hurting from the inside.

Sam knows he couldn’t have helped. Sam can’t move his legs. Sam can’t move his arms.

Sam can barely move his head when he hears a sound.

“Where is Steve?” Barnes asks, crouching down.

“Hy- Hyd-“ Sam tries but his tongue feels heavy and refuses to form _–ra_.

Barnes nods, understanding. There is something horrible in his eyes, black and burning and devastating (heartbreaking).

He pats Sam on the shoulder, “You’ll live.” He sounds sure of it, so Sam chooses to believe him.

Barnes lifts his head, suddenly alert, “Help is coming.” He rises to his feet, “I’ll get Steve,” he adds before leaving.

Super soldiers, Sam thinks resignedly when, a few seconds later, he hears the sound of cars, which must be what alerted Barnes.

People swarm the place; someone checks him over, secures the neck brace and lifts him up on a stretcher.

He manages a shaky smile when he sees Natasha. She’s very pale. “Snow white,” he tries to say but it comes out garbled. He smiles loopily.  Natasha looks toward someone on his left-

_Steve?_

-who says something about strong drugs and-

_No Steve._

He must have said it out loud because Natasha comes closer. “Where is Steve?” She asks, urgently. Sam blinks, slowly.

In a tower, guarded by a monster, he wants to say. It has many heads, its breath is poison and its blood is death.

Sam’s eyes close to Natasha’s frantic face.

***

Steve closes his eyes and tries to sleep, but the lights are still on and the light goes through his eyelids and he sees red. He hides his face in the crook of his elbow and it helps, a little.

He manages to fall asleep eventually, but when he wakes up he feels wrong. His limbs are heavy and there is a new mark on his arm. He stares at it until it heals. It doesn’t take long.

A cold fear grips him. He was drugged, for who knows how long. He could have healed from a lot worse without being aware of it.

Perhaps I am missing a kidney, he thinks. He doesn’t feel like he is missing a kidney. When he checks himself over, he doesn’t find any new scars, but it takes a lot to scar him these days.

He doesn’t feel thirst or hunger and he knows that he should. He hasn’t eaten in quite a while.

He doesn’t _remember_ having eaten.

It is a horrifying thought.

“Steve Rogers,” he says out loud, for a moment scared he might not remember his own name.

_Bucky didn’t remember_ his.

He tries to figure out how long it has been since he and Sam attacked that Hydra base. It is hard to tell. He doesn’t think it’s been more than a couple of days.

***

It’s been three weeks.

***

Sam wakes up after four days, feeling like crap.

When Natasha visits him, he knows from the look on her face that Steve is still gone.

“Hydra has him,” he says.

“We can’t find him,” Natasha confesses.

Sam hesitates before saying, “I don’t think you’ll have to.”

“What.”

“Barnes went after them.”

Her face darkens, “How do you know he wasn’t the one who lured you into a trap? Hydra could have gotten him back.”

“You didn’t see him, Natasha.”

“He is a good actor. He did covert ops before. You yourself found some of the mission reports.”

“There are things you can’t fake.” He knows that nothing he says will convince her. “There is no one who knows Barnes’s trigger words anymore.  We got the last one-“

“They captured Steve,” she interrupts, “was it worth it?”

“I think we both know what Steve’s answer would be.”

***

Steve is pumped full of drugs when the doors open, he can’t rise to his feet.

A man comes inside, carrying a simple wooden chair. He sets it next to the bed and sits down.  For a long minute he observes Steve, and then he leans back in the chair and steeples his fingers. “You’ve been making trouble, Captain Rogers.”

Steve glares.

The man smiles, amused, “The drugs are effective, aren’t they? We have a lot of experience in keeping super soldiers down.”

Steve turns his head the other way, seething.

“Sam Wilson is dead.”

Steve flinches.

“The Asset is in cryo.”

Steve looks back at him. “You are lying.” The words come out slurred.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

The man leans forward, “It doesn’t matter whether I’m lying or not. It doesn’t matter whether you believe me. You will be questioned and wiped. You won’t remember to care.”

Steve pales.

“And then, you will be put to cryo until it is safe to use you.”

“No.”

The man smiles, “Yes.”

***

He is questioned and it hurts.

***

It hurts.

***

It hur-

***

He is alone when he wakes up. The bed is too small and the room is too white; the walls, the door, his clothes, the light on the ceiling that doesn’t shine yellow.

The doors open and he rises to his feet, more curious than afraid.

The man who enters is dressed in black, with a multitude of weapons on himself. There is a gun in his hand, pointed down. Blood drips down his face, onto the white, white floor.

The man comes to stand in front of him and raises a metal hand, reaching out.

He shies away.

“Steve?” The man asks.

He doesn’t know any Steve. The man makes a pained sound when he hears that. He wishes he knew a Steve because no one should sound like that.

“We need to go,” the man says, and hesitates, “will you come with me?”

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I am Bucky. And you are Steve.”

“I am not Steve.”

“Do you remember not being Steve?”

He considers the question seriously, “No.”

“You are Steve.”

“Okay.”

His easy compliance seems to anger the man named Bucky.

“Let’s go.” Bucky leaves the room.

Steve goes after him. He pauses in the doorway. The room behind him is all he knows, and the room in front of him is filled with bodies. He and Bucky are the only ones still breathing. He thinks he shouldn’t, but Steve relaxes and hurries after Bucky.

In the next room, Bucky heads over to the desk and picks something up from it. He hands it over to Steve.

It’s a shield. It is red, white, and blue, with a star in the middle. He fits it on his arm, the motion feeling natural. He’s done this before.

He looks at Bucky. There is a star painted on his metal arm. He didn’t notice it before. It looks like Bucky’s red star could fit into his white one, with room to spare.

***

They meet some resistance when they go outside.

A man raises a gun.

Steve flings the shield before he can think about it. It knocks the man down and Bucky puts a bullet in him before he can get up.

***

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says once they are in the car, driving away.

Steve is turned in his seat, watching the burning building through the car’s rear window. He looks at Bucky when he speaks, who meets his eyes, unflinchingly.

“What for?”

“You were trying to help me, and they caught you. If I had let you find me… If I hadn’t run…”

Steve looks confused.

Bucky sighs.

Steve starts playing with the radio, changing the station every few seconds.

***

They find a cheap hotel to stay in for the next night.  It is moderately clean, the springs of the bed dig into Steve’s back and the shower is cold. The walls are peach colored, and the bedding is floral. Steve likes it. It’s not white.

In the morning, Bucky goes out to get some breakfast and warns Steve to stay inside.

“I want to go outside,” he says, belligerently. He can see the sky through the window. It looks so blue.

“People know your face,” Bucky tells him, “and they are looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are missing.”

“I know where I am.”

“The others don’t. There are people who care about you.”

“And is no one looking for you? What about the people who care about you?”

“There are people who are looking for me as well.” Bucky answers. He doesn’t tell Steve that the only ones who care about him are in the room. “Not as many as there are looking for you.”

Steve scowls and Bucky takes it as a good sign. The first few wipes are not that hard to overcome. It is the constant wiping that leaves the most damage. Personality tends to return before the memories. Steve is recovering.

He must be.

“Your face was all over the news,” he tells Steve. “There was panic at first, when people heard you were taken. Stark and the others couldn’t keep it a secret forever. There are numerous conspiracy theories about what really happened. There were many alleged sightings of you. People are still on the lookout. If someone sees you, everyone will hear about it. We can’t afford for that to happen. You need time to recover.”

It is obvious that Steve has no idea why there would be panic because he was gone, or who Stark is, but he looks like he wants to argue.

Steve always wants to argue.

Bucky knows better than to let him. “I won’t be long. Don’t go anywhere.”

Steve nods his compliance and Bucky leaves.

As soon as Steve is sure that Bucky is gone, he opens the door and goes outside.

“Going somewhere?”

Steve freezes for a second, and then he looks to the right only to see Bucky leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

“Dammit.”

“Go back inside.”

“No. It’s a free country-“

“You don’t remember your own name, but you remember that-“

“- If I want to go outside, I will go outside.”

“It’s not _safe_.”

“I don’t _care_.”

“Don’t make me knock you out.”

Steve glares, “You wouldn’t dare,” he turns around.

Everything goes black.

***

When he comes back to consciousness, he is in the room, on the bed, his head hurts and something smells delicious.

“You knocked me out,” he accuses, half angry, half incredulous.

Bucky looks completely unapologetic, “Eat,” he says and points at the food on the nightstand next to Steve.

Steve considers refusing, just to be difficult, but then his stomach growls loudly and he snatches the food and wolfs it down. He glares at Bucky, but he seems unaffected.

Bucky snaps a picture of him with his phone while he is eating, then he taps the screen a few times and in the end destroys the phone. “It’s time to leave.” He tosses Steve a bag, “I got you some new clothes.”

“I thought you said that we will not travel by day.”

“We will today.”

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“I’m taking you home.”

***

It is eight o’clock in the morning when Natasha comes to Sam’s home and demands breakfast.

He lets her in. He moves slowly, dragging his right leg. His back spasms and he can’t stop the wince.

“I’m fine,” he says when he sees how she is looking at him. “It doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Doctors said that I will make a full recovery. I was lucky.”

She nods, and even smiles slightly when he puts a full plate of food in front of her. She looks tired and worried; nothing new on Steve, then.

He is just about to dig into his own breakfast when his phone pings, indicating he has a new message.

It is from an unknown number.

He opens it and Natasha looks up at his gasp. He wordlessly hands her over the phone.

It’s a picture of Steve, eating a burger, followed by the text:

_Found him. B._

***

Bucky and Steve travel for days, at night, occasionally stopping and spending some time in a hotel, to shower and rest. Bucky doesn’t hurry on purpose. Steve needs time to get better and Bucky knows what it feels like to be wiped and then to start remembering. The less people around them the better.

***

The first thing Steve remembers is Bucky, long haired, with a mask and coming at him with a knife.

Luckily, Bucky is a light sleeper and wakes up before Steve can bludgeon him with the hotel lamp.

***

The next few days are tense.

***

“I’m not trying to kill you, Steve.”

“I remember differently.”

“To be fair, I _was_ trying to kill you then.”

“Untie me.”

“No.”

Steve tenses, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill you.”

Steve keeps quiet.

“You’ll remember soon.”

Steve scoffs, “For all I know, you could be the one who made me forget.”

“Why would I free you then?”

Steve shrugs, as much as the ropes he’s tied with allow, “It could all be a part of your nefarious plan.”

Bucky looks at him blankly, and Steve glares back, despite feeling suddenly a bit silly.

Bucky sighs, “I’ll untie you in the morning, after I get some sleep.”

True to his word, in the morning Bucky unties him. Steve attacks as soon as he is free, but Bucky is expecting it. 

Few minutes later, they are both sitting on the floor, bruised and bloody and glaring at each other. The room is in shambles.

“You do know that we are going to have to pay for the damages, right?”

Steve smirks, “ _I_ am not paying for anything.”

***

Steve starts remembering more.  He remembers his mother, in shades of grey and a woman in red; he remembers a man, strapped to a table, mumbling a string of numbers. The memory ends before he can reach him and see his face but he remembers feeling that he knows him.

He remembers a flying hammer, eating shawarma and drawing a monkey with a shield.

He asks Bucky to buy him a sketchbook and pencils the next time he goes out.

***

Steve draws and draws and writes down names that feel familiar and words he doesn’t know the meaning of but knows he should. He writes down the numbers that the man in his memories mumbles and he is too focused on the paper and the pencil in his hand to see how Bucky goes white when he sees them.

*/*/*

The next day, Bucky goes to a store and returns wrong. Steve notices as soon as Bucky steps inside the room.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, with a heavy Russian accent, and Steve goes cold.

He gets up and approaches him slowly. “Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky asks, bewildered, with no trace of the Russian accent.

Steve knows those words. Knows that voice saying them, in that way. “You are,” he says, and he is looking, so he can tell the exact moment that Bucky comes back to himself. It leaves Steve shaken. Something tickles at the back of his mind, impatient and important and he should already know this, but, “What was that?” he asks and Bucky pretends not to hear him.

“Bucky?” He asks again, not willing to let this go. His head throbs, like it is going to split open and spill all his secrets out.

“I get lost sometimes.”

“Why? How? I don’t understand.” He does, somehow, he _does does does_

Bucky wants to answer, but-

_there are screams, inside his head, shrill_

-he feels himself starting to slide back down and the blackness closes in, but then Steve’s frantic _Bucky_ , jolts him back up and he finds himself being shaken. He grabs Steve by the forearms and breathes heavily. He is trembling, and barely standing. When he looks up and meets Steve’s eyes there is something old in them, something familiar.

“Hi, Steve,” he manages to get out, “long time no see.”

“Hi, Buck,” Steve responds and his voice breaks when he says the name.

He helps Bucky sit down on the bed and remains standing in front of him, overwhelmed. Things are slotting into place inside his head. He feels raw and his head hurts but it also feels _good_. Solid.

Bucky looks up at him, briefly, after a few minutes, and then looks around the room, searching. “Where are Dugan and Morita?” he asks.

“They are dead,” Steve answers without thinking, and it feels weird to suddenly have a head full of memories, when just a few minutes ago it was mostly blank space.

Bucky’s shocked _what_ drags him back to the present.                  

Steve takes a deep breath before he asks, “What years is it?” Bucky tells him, confused, that it is 1944 and Steve stays quiet for too long, conflicted, because it is Sergeant Barnes looking back at him from those eyes; not  the Winter Soldier, and not Bucky who spent decades as a prisoner and remembers it, but Bucky, as he was before the fall.

Steve wishes-

_desperately, selfishly, humanly_

-that he stays that way.

He pushes those feelings down and straightens his back. “It is not 1944.” Every word he says while trying to jog Bucky’s memory feels like a blow. Finally, Bucky blinks, his expression clears and the weight of years pushes his shoulders down.

Steve waits a few minutes to see if Bucky gets confused again, and when he doesn’t, he goes to the bathroom and locks the door. He splashes water on his face and grips the sink. He looks in the mirror. “Steve Rogers,” he says to his reflection, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

After a few minutes, he hears Bucky-

_James Buchanan Barnes_

\- stand up and come closer.

“You okay, Steve?” he asks from the other side.

“…No. You?”

“I could use a drink.”

“I can’t get drunk,” Steve admits, longingly.

“Me neither,” Bucky responds sadly.

***

“I met some Russian tourists while I was out,” Bucky explains, after Steve comes out. ”I translated for them. One moment everything was fine, and the next it was all jumbled up,” he says, tapping his head.

“Does it happen often?”

“Less and less as the time goes by. This was the first time in the last couple of months.”

“I wish you had let me help you. Why didn’t you come to me, or let me find you. I could have-”

“You were annoying and I was confused and busy and it was my choice.”

“But-“

“My _choice_ ,” Bucky repeats, like it matters more than anything and Steve opens his mouth before-

_Oh, God_

-it hits him, that for decades Bucky didn’t have one at all. Steve knew this, he _did_ , he just didn’t let himself think too much about it because it was too horrible to contemplate.

He always shies away from thinking about those decades. Instead he is hunted by that day it all began. He curses that godforsaken train and his serum-enhanced body whose longer reach still wasn’t long enough to reach Bucky and prevent his captivity from happening.

Sometimes he thinks awful things-

_Of all the Howling Commandoes, why did it have to be_ him _?_

-and he regrets them but not and-

Bucky sighs and hands him over a cell phone. “I let Wilson know that you were with me. He probably told the others but I have no idea how they took it. You should probably call them.”

***

“They’ll pick us up in a couple of hours,” Steve says after hanging up.

“They’ll pick _you_ up in a couple of hours.”

Steve knew this was coming. “We should stick together,” he tries, “Hydra-“

“-is weak right now. Especially after we destroyed the base they kept you in.”

“They are still out there.”

“I doubt they can ever truly be gone. Cut off one head…”

“At least stay long enough to meet the team.” Steve insists, looking decidedly mulish.

“No.” Steve is not the only one who knows how to be stubborn.

***

Bucky is gone by the time Natasha and Clint arrive.

“He left,” Steve tells Natasha when he sees her furtively glancing around, “he is not going to suddenly jump out from around the tree.”

Natasha glares but relaxes, the tension visibly leaving her.

“So,” Clint starts, “how crazy is he?”

“He’s not crazy.”

Clint looks at him knowingly, “He must have a few screws loose. You don’t spend seventy years as a brainwashed assassin and get out of it completely sane. How bad is it?”

Steve relents, “He’s mostly good.”

“You spent days with him, and that is all you have to say?”

“I wasn’t quite myself during that time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Natasha asks, wary.

“It means that I wasn’t quite myself during that time.”

“What did Hydra do to you?”

Steve doesn’t answer Natasha’s question.

He remembers the wipe now, and what came before it. Still, he is bothered more by the time he spent drugged to unconsciousness. He knows now that he spent more than a couple of days in that state. What did Hydra do to him? What-

He feels like there are ants, crawling on his skin and under the skin and-

He doesn’t notice that he is scratching at his arm until Clint grabs his hand and stops him. There is understanding in his eyes, the terrible kind that comes with personal experience.

“Don’t scratch,” he says, “it doesn’t help. You will only hurt yourself.”

“I heal quickly.”

Clint doesn't say _You don’t, not from this._


	6. Chapter 6

Steve is quiet when he comes back from his time with Hydra and road trip with Barnes. He looks healthy and Bruce knows how fast he heals so he doesn’t expect to find any injuries. He insists on checking him over anyway.

Steve tenses when he touches him and Bruce recognizes an aborted flinch when he sees it.

“I’m fine,” Steve says, trying to sound impatient but it comes out weary. 

Steve’s skin is unblemished but Bruce doesn’t scar either, not since the Hulk, and he is not fooled.

He insists on multitude of tests and Steve grudgingly consents, shadows of fear dancing in his eyes, wild.

The x-ray in particular tells a horrifying story. The bones may be healed now, thanks to the super-soldier serum in Steve’s blood, but healing leaves marks. There are plenty of them.

The Hulk wants to come out and play and Bruce wants to let him-

_It’s Bruce who taught him bloodlust, never forget_

-but knows he can’t. Not now, when Steve is looking at him like one wrong word will send him running.  

He takes a deep breath and tightens his hold on his anger. Steve relaxes visibly. Bruce stays quiet, not sure what he needs to say. He is not the kind of doctor Steve needs.

“Don’t tell me,” Steve pleads.

“You don’t know?”

“I remember some. The rest…they drugged me. I know- I know they did things but-”

“I understand.” If he doesn’t remember, doesn’t know, then it didn’t happen. Bruce doesn’t think that’s a healthy way to deal with one's problems but then again, it’s not like his is any better. He deals with his problems by turning into an enormous green rage monster and smashing them.

(There is never enough blood on his hands to calm the rage.)

 “I don’t want to know,” Steve repeats, “Just tell me if there is any permanent damage.”

“There isn’t. You-“

“-heal quickly.” Steve finishes for him, bitterly.

Bruce fiddles with medical instruments and keeps his eyes down, away from Steve’s, “Your friend didn’t come back with you?” he asks, even though he knows it may not be the best thing to ask. He’s always been a bit reckless.

“No,” Steve answers shortly and looks away. There is resigned acceptance in his voice, shot through with hurt.

Bruce looks up, “He’ll come around.” He consoles, lamely.

Steve looks at him hopefully, “You think so?” he asks and Bruce feels like he may not be good at this-

“Yes.”

-but he might be good enough, because Steve looks at him like he believes him. He hopes Barnes doesn’t make a liar out of him. “He came when you needed him the most, didn’t he?”

***

Steve meets with Sam the same day he gets back.

His friend is limping and trying to hide it. Steve stares at his leg for far too long, unable to meet his eyes. Bucky has informed him that Hydra had lied when they told him that Sam was dead but it could have easily been the truth. He remembers Sam falling down, wounded. He never should have-

“No one forced me to go,” Sam says, as if reading his mind. He doesn’t sound like he regrets anything. “I will heal,” he adds.

Steve clenches his jaw. It is one thing that Sam was willing to put himself in danger to fight aliens, another entirely that he put himself in danger to find a man who-

_tore his wings, oh God,  and brought him down, crashing to the ground_

-means nothing to him.

Sam sighs, like Steve is being an idiot. It is not meant to be insulting, but it is and Steve struggles not to lash out.

***

Tony designs a special punching bag. At his angriest, using all of his enhanced strength, Steve doesn’t manage to destroy it. He tries and tries and tries and it remains pristine. He wavers between being disappointed and grateful, because he wants to destroy but he also doesn’t and it is nice to be able to use full strength.

He doesn’t feel like pulling punches.

***

When he tires of the punching bag, he is approached for a spar by Thor who looks at him with ancient eyes and who hits like he knows Steve won’t break.

And Steve thinks _thank you thank you thank you_ , because he had his doubts but Thor doesn’t and Steve trusts Thor more than he trust himself at this point.

***

“Do we seem like children to you?” Steve asks him later, when they are drinking beer with the others and Jane moves away to discuss science with Tony and Bruce.  

Thor sounds unusually solemn when he answers, “No, you mature quickly. It took me centuries to get where you are now. But your maturity has a price.” He looks over at Jane, where she is laughing at the other end of the room, and his eyes are unbelievably sad, “You die too quickly.”

“I see.” He thinks of Peggy, old and her time running out while he is still young, an entire life in front of him. He is sorry he asked.

Thor looks back at him, “She is the love of my life. One day she will die, and I will live for thousands of years without her.”

Steve is so damn sorry he asked.

“She is alive now.” Thor smiles, all traces of sadness gone, “There will be more than enough time for grieving, once she’s not.”

Thousands of years, Steve thinks, thousands of years.

***

Bucky is in Madrid, following Rumlow, when Peggy dies. He learns about it when he receives a text from JARVIS. No one is supposed to know where he is, but the little bastard likes to keep tabs on him. Starks are nosy bastards, and Jarvis is a Stark, despite not being human.

Carter is dead. Steve must be a mess.

Bucky watches Rumlow cross the street; he pockets his phone before going after him.

***

Rumlow is tied down in a chair, still unconscious, when Bucky makes the call.

“Hi, Buck,” Steve says the moment the line connects, sounding tired and so very sad.

“How did you know it was me? I know you don’t have this number.”

“I asked JARVIS to screen my calls.”

Bucky is silent for a long time before he offers, “Want me to come?”

Steve exhales a shaky breath, “I loved her,” he says, instead of answering, “no one seems to understand that. I _loved_ her.”

“I know.”

“I met her children, you know? And her grandchildren.” Steve lets out a strangled laugh, “I hang out with her grandson. He is a great guy, but sometimes I look at him and I can’t help but imagine… If I had come back to her, if I hadn’t crashed-“

“Steve.”

Steve swallows audibly, “It’s not fair.”

“Should I pack my bags?”

Steve hesitates, but declines in the end, “Thor is coming. I’ll be fine.”

He won’t be fine.  Bucky is about to say something about it when Rumlow starts to stir.

“I have to go,” He says, reluctantly.

“Okay,” Steve answers and Bucky doesn’t like the sound of his voice. It’s tiny and quiet and wrong.

***

“You were my favorite Howling Commando,” Rumlow tells him conversationally, like he isn’t a tied down prisoner.

Bucky hums noncommittally.

“I used to want to be a hero,” Rumlow continues undeterred, “a long time ago.”

“You missed a turn somewhere.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, almost pleased, and the scars on his face stretch weirdly and make it look sad.  “I didn’t like hearing you scream when they wiped you. I didn’t like what they were doing to you.” He sounds sincere. “You were Bucky Barnes,” Rumlow says it like he was something special, and it is not the first time someone said his name like that. Bucky is starting to realize that history remembers him fondly. “They ruined you. Sure, the Asset was deadly, but imagine what you could have been had they flipped you for real.”

“I hate Hydra.”

Rumlow chuckles, “That’s hardly surprising.”

***

Rumlow doesn’t share what he knows and Bucky doesn’t drag it out of him. He considers doing it but the thought brings back the taste of bile in his mouth and he can’t-

 _won’t_ , really, won’t go back down that road. Never again, not even if it were Steve who asked it of him.

He still kills Rumlow, though, quickly, stabbing him once, in the heart. He wishes he didn’t spend all of his bullets capturing the man so he could have done this from a distance.

Truthfully, even pulling the trigger has gotten harder.

He used to not think about it at all. Now, he rarely stops.

He can’t sleep, and sometimes he can’t even breathe. Other times he wakes up excited, tasting blood and thirsting for more.

Rarely, he wakes up numb and cold, not knowing his own name. It never lasts. He-

_loves it_

-remembers quickly.

***

It is evening, the next day, when Bucky knocks on Steve’s door.

It is Thor who opens it. The smell of ozone hits Bucky’s nose-

_storm_

-and he tenses, just barely, but Thor notices. He looks at Bucky measuringly. Bucky wishes for a bigger gun than the ones he is carrying, but is pretty sure that there is no gun big enough. He stands his ground, nevertheless, and gives back in equal measure. It seems that Steve has gotten better at making friends. He used to be awful at it. Bucky approves of the change, even though it makes him feel a bit redundant.  

“I am Thor,” the god of thunder says, finally, and lets Bucky pass.

“Bucky,” Bucky answers, haltingly. He has been called many names and is yet to identify with one, but Steve calls him Bucky and it is not a bad name. It’s like an old sweater, comforting in its familiarity but a bit worn. It doesn’t quite fit anymore.

Thor leads the way to the living room and Bucky follows, feeling out of place.

When Steve sees him, he smiles, relieved and grateful and Bucky knows that coming was the right choice. He wasn’t sure, because Steve used to prefer to grieve alone.

They hug and Steve clutches at him and it’s-

_been a long time since you left me in that hotel  with my memory barely back_

-a sentence spoken in a grip. He hugs back, I’m sorry, it says, and Steve carefully avoids his eyes when he releases him. He squeezes Bucky’s shoulders briefly and backs away a step, keeping close, but giving him space, as if Bucky is the one who is grieving. It breaks Bucky’s heart.

Perhaps it’s time to stop running, he thinks, and Steve must be a telepath because he takes one look at him and smiles brightly. It is radiant, if a bit crooked around the edges, with grief.

“Bruce was right.” Steve says quietly and doesn’t explain.

***

“I won’t apologize,” Bucky says, weeks later, when they are all at the Avengers tower, sitting and drinking and Tony mentions Howard and Maria, bitterly, the hurt child peeking from behind a grown man.

Steve goes still beside him and everyone else falls quiet.

“You just did,” Tony says, seriously and Bucky wants to say _no_.

It was a beautiful hit, so beautiful that for years no one even knew that it was a hit and even now, no one can prove it. He wants to say: _Your mother didn’t die instantly. She chocked on her own blood._

It was a mission well done. He remembers his handlers being pleased.

Tony smiles, sadly, as if he is able to read his mind, and drains his glass.

***

Natasha corners him, later that same night, and her body language radiates menace and threat.  Her arms are crossed, “Steve is my friend,” she says, and her tone is flat. It is the only reason she hasn’t protested him being at the Avengers tower.  “I know what kind of _training_ you had. I am not convinced that you are safe to be around.” One of her hands drops a bit and she touches a spot on her belly, as if unconsciously. They both know it’s not. That is where he shot her, that first time.

Her eyes are cold when he meets them. “No one knows my triggers,” he tells her calmly.

“You can’t know that.”

“I can.”

She sneers, “You could have missed one. All it takes is-“

“You could have as well,” he interrupts her and the implication makes her blanch. “I know about _your_ triggers.” She takes a step back and pulls out her gun.

Her eyes are wide and frightened but her aim is steady; She won’t miss.

“I do not know the words.” He says and she breathes out slowly, relived. He thinks about not saying anything else, but he doesn’t like being cornered and he doesn’t like being threatened, regardless of the intentions behind it. “Anymore,” he continues and the fingers of her free hand twitch.

“They wiped that memory,” she states, comprehending.

“It might come back. Everything else is coming back.” His gut churns for threatening her with _that_ of all things. He shouldn’t have, he knows he shouldn’t have. He’s no better than _they_ are.

Natasha’s finger hovers over the safety and-

Steve is very silent when he wants to be. They didn’t even hear him approach. “What is going on here?” He asks, looking at the gun. There is readiness in his posture, and Natasha looks regretful for a moment before a stony mask falls over her face. Steve steps closer and faces her head on, turning his back to Bucky, choosing a side.  Natasha does not look surprised. 

“How much did you hear?”

“Everything. Even if one day he remembers your words, he won’t ever use them against you.”

You foolish, naïve bastard, Bucky thinks, I would if I had to. Natasha can read it on his face, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I wouldn’t have let him around any of you if I had thought he would hurt you.” Steve tells her, with utmost seriousness.

She looks at him for a long moment, gauging the sincerity of his words, and then she puts the gun away, turns around and walks away. She trusts Steve a lot, but whether she trusts him enough not to murder Bucky in his sleep remains to be seen.

“Don’t use them, Bucky.” Steve tells him once they are alone.

“I won’t.”

“I know you lied. You remember her trigger phrases.”

“If she doesn’t force my hand, I won’t use them. I know what it feels like to have someone use them against you. Plus, I’m pretty sure she knows one of mine.” He fantasizes about cutting off her tongue. Perhaps he’ll be able to relax and actually sleep in the same building as her if she was mute.

(he’ll burn in hell, he knows, for all that he has done and has thought of doing)

Steve sighs, not surprised. “I wish you two would get along.”

Bucky shrugs, “I did shoot her a couple of times.”

“Winter Soldier shot her.”

“ _I_ shot her. The Winter Soldier is not a separate persona, it is not someone else. It is me.”

“You know it’s not that simple.”

“I know it’s not. My shrink won’t let me forget it.”

“Good.” Steve looks satisfied. It’s not surprising; he did recommend the man, after all.

***

It is a month later when a Hydra sniper fires and nicks his heart. He has let down his guard. If Steve hadn’t pushed him down, or if it had been a head shot-

Steve runs towards the place from whence the shot came and Banner presses down on the wound. Bucky’s healing kicks in and it is not too long before he can move without bleeding out. He curls in on himself and nearly dislodges Banner’s hands from where they are still putting pressure on the wound. It is not the pain from being shot keeping his eyes squeezed shut, but the soulhurt: they will never stop coming after him. He will never be free.

“You are not alone,” Bruce whispers and Bucky opens his eyes to see the Hulk, endlessly hunted by the military, looking back. “None of us are,” he continues, meaning the Avengers, “not anymore.”

Bucky is not an Avenger. Except from Steve, all the other members of his team are dead.

He is not sure he even knows how to be a team player anymore.

“We were all loners once,” Bruce says carefully, like he is sharing a secret, a wealth of meaning buried inside his words,  “except maybe Thor,” he amends after a second.

And Steve, Bucky thinks, because Steve was always a part of a team, even though in the beginning it was just the two of them.

The truth is, Bucky is not sure he even _wants_ to be a part of a team again. He meets Bruce’s eyes and there is something unbearably gentle in them, despite the green  of forever angry Hulk shining out. It looks like understanding.

Steve comes back and crouches down next to them. He is furious. “They got away,” he tells them and glances at Bucky, the fierceness turning into concern.

“He will be fine. He’s healing fast.” Bruce answers the unspoken question.

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief.  “We will find them, Buck.”

“And then someone else will come to take their place,” he chokes out, desolate.

“We’ll get them too,” Steve says but they both know that Bucky will leave as soon as he heals completely.

There is no happily ever after for men like him.

(monsters die at the end of a book)

***

He calls sometimes. He knows Steve would come after him again if he didn’t. And he still speaks with his psychiatrist, but that is just because the guy is funny, not because it helps him.

(It helps him.)

They talk about good men doing bad things and about agency and lack thereof. They talk about cookies and Indian food and why he cut his hair off; about Discovery channel and coupons because he watched a show and one kid actually got paid by the store at the end and-

***

After a couple of years, he returns to New York and buys an apartment. It is small and in the bad part of town, but it is _his_ so it is wonderful. He buys a potted plant and hangs one of Steve’s drawings on the wall. He buys colorful plates and a floor lamp and a shelf and he does it all hesitantly, afraid that someone will come and take it all away from him.

Clint’s building is a couple of blocks away and sometimes they meet on the rooftops and chat. Sometimes it’s about the TV shows they both watch, and sometimes it’s about the color purple and squirrels. Once, only once, it’s about crosshairs and the taste of liquid coins in one's mouth.

(sometimes you have to get close and use a knife)

***

Steve crashes on his couch when he wants to hide from the rest of the Avengers. They all know where he is, of course, but no one bothers him when he’s at Bucky’s. Not since the fork incident. Forkident, as it is known in some circles, to Tony’s eternal delight.

***

Bucky passes next to one of Stark Industries buildings every day. From time to time he stops, leans on the wall of the building and talks with JARVIS until Happy comes out to glare at him.

***

He’s barely been in his apartment for six months when Hydra agents break in and attack him.

***

Afterwards, he shows up at the Avenger’s tower, silent, with deadened eyes. Natasha lets him in and doesn’t ask about the blood stains on his clothes.      

He falls asleep in front of a giant TV and is woken up hours later by Thor’s booming laughter.

Steve thrusts a pizza at him as soon as he opens his eyes, “We’re watching a movie.”

Bucky looks around to see himself surrounded by the Avengers, all in the process of settling down in front of the TV. He falls asleep again as soon as he finishes his pizza.  

It is almost dawn when he wakes up again. He gets up, careful not to wake the others up.

JARVIS stops him before he leaves, “I wouldn’t recommend going back to your apartment.”

There are brains splattered all over his walls, he knows. He put them there.

“I have a phone number for a real estate agent that can help you find a new apartment,” JARVIS offers, “She will start working in a few hours. In the meantime, there is a room you can stay in. If not, there is a gym here. I am certain Captain Rogers wouldn’t mind you using one of his special punching bags.”

***

Steve joins him a couple of hours later.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I know you liked that apartment.”

“Yeah, well…” He punches the bag viciously.

“Buck-“

“I’ll find a new one. JARVIS knows an agent.”

Steve nods.

“Eight people.”

Steve doesn’t comment.

“They are dead now.”

“You need a hobby.” Steve declares, out of the blue. “Maybe dancing. You like to dance. Or maybe you could go to school. Do science. You were always interested in science.”

“I’m not going to school.”

Steve smirks, “Doctor Barnes.”

“Do you have any idea how many years you need to go to school to get a PhD? No, don’t answer that. You hang out with Tony and Bruce; you probably think it takes a year or two.”

“Wait, it doesn’t?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

“Hydra-“

“-will come after you no matter what you do. Why not have some fun in the meantime? You can’t hide forever.”

“I’m not going to school. You go to school.”

“Fine. We’ll both go.”

“What?”

“I never did get my art degree.”

“You can’t be serious.”

***

Steve is serious.

***

He attends lectures and feels like an old man. Everyone around him is so damn young. He doesn’t look too out of place though. Not all students are teenagers and he doesn’t age  quite  right either, not since Zola. Steve had looked ecstatic when they had found out about it. Ecstatic and trying hard to hide it because he is the same and he doesn’t want to be alone in this but unlike Erskine, Zola didn’t ask, and where Steve had said yes, Bucky had screamed no.

He is just about to go meet with Steve for lunch when the Skrulls attack.

The fight is short but glorious. His clothes are a bit torn and there are cuts on his face, already scabbing, when he finally meets with Steve. He laughs like a mad man because it felt good to tear the Skrulls apart and he hates that, even though they were the ones who initiated the attack and had it coming.

(they may bleed green  and not red, but they whimper just the same)

He’s tried to be good, he really did, but violence is in his blood and it is too late now.

He could bleed himself dry and it wouldn’t bleed the violence out.

Steve looks at him, “It’s okay,” he says and Bucky is vividly reminded of the old Steve, that vicious little scrawny bastard with the loudest _fight me_ attitude of all the people he has ever met. “All you need to do is learn how to direct it,” Steve continues and Bucky despairs because for the most of his life, others have done the directing for him. He’s only been free for a few years and most of them were spent running.

“You’re doing great,” Steve assures him and pushes his sketchbook towards him, “Look; I drew the Hulk in a tutu.”


End file.
